Your Move
by Stephane Richer
Summary: Uta always makes the first move, even when he doesn't


Your Move

Disclaimer: don't own

Note: first time doing a full length tg fic & still working on the characters...let me know how i did

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Uta always makes the first move, even when he doesn't—he'll play his cards just right for Renji to fold against the tension like a cot set up improperly, take his hands out of his pockets and place them around Uta's waist or cup Uta's smooth jaw and bring it towards his own and Uta's triumphant smile will give him away every time and his eyes will illuminate like traffic lights and Renji will kiss him harder than he first meant to—and that, too, is part of Uta's plan, of course.

Back when they were still kids (after Uta stopped wearing that stupid headband but before he got the first tattoo on his hand) Uta had been the first one to figure it out, the peace between them, why it still contained with something that wasn't quite palpable, suspended just beyond their reaches, something different from the tooth-and-nail way they'd fought, something that could lay its roots down deeper but they couldn't really sense other than that. And then Uta had kissed him one night on that rooftop and it had fallen into place like the way he'd hidden himself among the bricks and shadows as a child so as to remain unnoticed, only it had latched on in a more permanent way and he'd kissed Uta back, drawn him closer even though he had no real idea what he was doing, only stolen bits and pieces of human movies and half-forgotten things he'd seen as a very young child.

He'd technically been the first to admit his feelings, sentiments still rough after that kiss but springing from him unlike a kagune, more definite even as he knew they needed to be filed down to be better, to mean more—but he and Uta still had to file themselves down, though, still with one foot stuck in the world of rampant destruction, struggling to shed that part of them sometimes, in the midst of their own separate transformations running in parallel to the transformation of themselves together. Or perhaps it had been all part of the same change, maybe their new willingness to cooperate when they didn't strictly have to or when they didn't want anything tangible gave birth to this and they had reached out and fused before they figured out how not to.

"But why wouldn't you want to, hmm?"

Itori's too sharp when Renji doesn't want her to be, plays dense sometimes but cuts needlessly rough at his insecurities, perhaps won't mention things by name but knows what he's talking about, hints at them too aggressively for his liking and pushes him into playing his hand. She's a little like Uta that way but her brand of pushing out the truth is a little bit more blatant and aggressive. She leans forward on the bar, closing the distance between their faces to look closer at his eyes and then draws back sharply, nodding.

"You know he's more than capable of taking care of himself," she says, too pleased with herself.

"And? It's not like I particularly need to protect him."

"But you worry, Ren-chan. You might have that stoic face on but you worry about him."

He raises an eyebrow, taps his own fingers on the bar. She's got a point.

The doorknob rattles and the door opens; Uta shakes his umbrella off on the floor and Itori scolds him, and they dissolve into the light, mock-angry banter that provides a sort of bass line to their conversations—somehow Renji always ends up stuck in between them and trying to fend them off. Soon enough they tire of umbrellas and water and whatever else the discussion is moving toward and gravitate toward him like ants to fresh cake.

Uta smells like rain, like wet wood; his hands are wet and the one he places on Renji's thigh is clammy even through Renji's jeans but the way his lips move and the shadow of his hair on his forehead under the bar lights take the focus off his hand. It's nice having him in here, knowing where he is, knowing that the blood on his fingers is picked up from running his finger over the rim of his glass and not his own, not those of anyone he's had to kill to keep from being killed. Their lives are miserable enough without any more of this shit.

Itori hums and pushes a glass over toward him.

"Stop looking so upset. Have a little something."

He takes a sip. He's never been particularly fond of blood on its own; it always tastes better on flesh but it still slides easily enough down his throat, doesn't burn the way human drinks do (the foolish occasion when he and Uta had tried to split a bottle of vodka comes to mind, as it often does at this bar—the walls are paneled like the liquor store he'd gone to in order to purchase it; it had been awful like the vodka had a kagune that clawed at his neck from the inside out) and the company is the important part. Itori's and Uta's buoyancy makes him smile, too—there's no reason to be morose, after all, even if these are serious times. Especially because they're so serious he should let go a little when he can (and Uta's hand has not left his thigh).

It's getting late, close to opening time—Renji doesn't particularly want to stay, have Itori shove unfamiliar ghouls into his face and introduce them all to him until he's lost the capacity to remember any more names (she does this in part to annoy him and it works all too well, although perhaps he deserves it) and hold the glass in his hand and nurse it all night long.

She ends up kicking them out, laughingly gesturing toward the door as the timeframe shrinks—her distaste for mixing work with pleasure (regardless of what she gets out of running this place) overrides the enjoyment she receives from teasing her friends (or she's had her fill of that tonight). Uta sticks out his tongue and shakes the umbrella hard; a few more drops fall on the floor. He grabs Renji's hand and opens the door; Renji waves and before the door shuts behind them he hears Itori's laugh.

Uta pauses in the passageway to get a better grip on the umbrella and Renji slips his hand into a better position, locking their fingers together and brushing his thumb over the brief strip of Uta's palm that is not flush against his. Uta's eyes dart up to meet Renji's and he shoots a flickering smile at him and then pulls him close to plant a fleeting kiss on the corner of his mouth. He turns back to the umbrella, and Renji gives in and kisses him properly, fast but soft and pressing and at least long enough to get a real taste of him.


End file.
